


Entye

by Andettan



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Boba Can Have Little A Violence - As A Treat, Boba Fett & Fennec Shand Friendship, Boba Fett drags the entire crew into the Skywalker Family Soap Opera, Child Custody Negotiations, Crack Treated Seriously, Din Djarin Needs A Nap, Fix-It, Gen, Playing Hot Potato with the Darksaber, This is tagged Boba & Luke but its really more Boba Fett VS Luke, and not half as serene and mysterious as he first appears, in that I fix most of Din's problems and redistribute them to everybody else, in which Luke is still deep down that starbright feral desert child from Tatooine, like his father before him, the dramatic reunion we all deserved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andettan/pseuds/Andettan
Summary: Entye (ENT-yeh): n. Mando'a word for debtIt goes like this: Koska Reeves owes Bo-Katan her allegiance. Bo-Katan owes nothing to anybody, but for Mandalore she's more than willing to cash in some debts. Din Djarin owes Bo-Katan a few things, but none so vital as what he owes the child: safe delivery to his people. (He also feels he is owed a nap.) Fennec Shand owes Boba Fett her life, who in turns owes his assistance to the Mandalorian in his quest. But most importantly, Luke Skywalker owes the bounty hunter a reckoning for The Sarlaac Incident. This is unfortunate, as Luke Skywalker is a powerful Jedi with limited patience for being shot in the head.In which Fennec gives Boba the all-clear as soon as they take the bridge and it's all downhill from there.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 23
Kudos: 232





	Entye

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the lore is from Legends instead of the films, and the full extent of my knowledge on that is straight from the wiki but this is Star Wars and canon is dead so who cares <3  
> Translations in the End Notes!

“Weapon system disarmed,” says Koska, and it’s all Fennec needs to hear. The dark-clothed sharpshooter crosses the room in a few swift steps to reach the comms station. Her fingers fly across the keys and switchboards with ease and it’s the work of a few seconds to send Boba a discrete message informing him that he’s clear to return.

While securing the bridge had gone fairly smooth, Fennec has a bad feeling that their luck won’t last. Better to have someone she could trust at her back when things take a turn for the worst. The panel in front of her blinks to indicate Slave I had received the transmission and was en route.

She nods sharply to herself in satisfaction, turning back to the room at large. Aside from the Marshal, none of the others had noticed her brief distraction. Shaking her head at Cara’s curious look, she settles back against the wall in time for the Mandalorians to start panicking.

“ _Where is Gideon?_ ”

* * *

It’s been a long day. Kriff, it’s been a long week or so, but Din is willing to tolerate the tense and uneasy trek to the bridge as long as he has Grogu safe and close at hand. He’s willing to tolerate a whole lot for the sake of having ~~his kid~~ _the_ kid nestled wide-eyed and unharmed in the crook of his arm.

Gideon is quiet as he walks the narrow halls a few feet ahead. The Moff is strangely unperturbed by the glowing saber humming ominously near his side. Din had kept it on as a reminder for the Imperial not to try anything funny, but given how unsettlingly settled the man was, he’s starting to think it was a waste of time and a potential hazard.

Din is increasingly sure of that last part as Grogu keeps squirming around and craning his neck to reach for the blade. After having to shift his grip on the child for the forth time, he huffs and looks down.

“Keep still, you little womp rat. You’re too young for a weapon like this.”

Despite keeping his voice gentle, Grogu tilts his head and widens his eyes in the most dramatic expression of sadness he’s ever seen. Except Din has seen this exact expression on his face when he’s been denied a fifth serving of sweets, so it’s much less effective this time around.

“Nice try, kid. Still no.”

Grogu blinks cutely, turning back to stare the Darksaber, but he’s stopped making grabby hands at least, so Din will call it a win.

They round a corner in time to run into an armored figure. Din’s swinging the Darksaber up defensively for a moment before recognition kicks in.

Boba Fett’s helmet turns towards Gideon before focusing on Din.

“Oh good, you’ve got the foundling.”

He nods, adjusting his hold of the kid yet again as he twists to get a better look at Fett.

Grogu stares intently at the bounty hunter with unblinking eyes for a long moment. Then he gurgles and tilts his head, chirping cutely at the man.

Din realizes that the kid has no idea who Fett is. They’d met the day of his capture and Grogu hadn’t been around for that. He feels a pang at the reminder of how long it’s been since they’d been separated.

“Grogu,” he says instead of dwelling on it, watching as he swivels his whole body in attention at his name as always, “this is Boba Fett. Fett, this is the kid.”

Moff Gideon, who had been silently watching the interaction, turns his head in sudden interest. His sharp eyes flick back and forth between all three of them at the introduction. Din ignores this in favor of letting Fett step closer to greet the child.

“Well met, _ad’ika_ ,” he says, tilting his helmet in a nod. Then he turns to Din.

“Fennec sent word that the ship was clear, but she hadn’t mentioned you’d found your boy. I’m glad.”

“Me too,” he answers. “I owe you my thanks. Now that the child has been returned to me, your debt is paid.”

“So it is.” Then, looking at the glowing blade, he says, “That’s the Darksaber Kryze was so wound-up about, then?”

Din nods, then Gideon to get moving again with a jerk of his chin before starting once more down the hall. Boba falls into step beside him.

“Maybe once she gets it back, her highness'll be bearable for half a moment.”

Din hums wordlessly, but in the privacy of his head doubts there’s anything that will make Bo-Katan pleasant company.

Gideon turns his head back to look between the armored men. “So neither of you are aware of the ritual and lore behind the Darksaber. Strange, how you both lack the cultural context.”

Fett’s helmet tilts subtly, a silent signal asking ‘what in _haran_ is this guy on about?’

Din gestures back with a near imperceptible shake of his head. He has no idea.

“You’d think with so few Mandalorians left, your people would have more emphasis on preserving the histories. I find it interesting to encounter several with so little knowledge of their own culture.”

Fett cuffs the back of his head to shut him up.

“Just an observation,” Gideon finishes, though there’s something Din can’t pinpoint simmering in the undertones of his voice.

They arrive at the bridge fairly soon, and a quick glance around the rooms shows that everyone is accounted for. Good.

* * *

His relief doesn’t last long. Gideon sees to that much.

“Why don’t you kill him and take it?” the Imperial asks, addressing Bo-Katan.

He tenses, turning to Bo-Katan in wordless question as Cara Dune throws the man to the floor. In his peripheral he sees Boba Fett move deliberately to flank his right, Fennec following suit on his left.

The Moff keeps talking, inexplicably smug and grinning slightly through bloody teeth.

“The Darksaber. It’s yours now.”

Din feels his blood pressure rise with every word, stressed beyond belief at this new entirely unasked for problem.

“And now it’s hers.”

But because that would have been too easy, of course-

“She can’t take it. It must be won, through _combat_.”

Din wants to scream. Barring that, he wants to chuck the saber at Bo-Katan’s head, take the kid, and curl up in a dark corner for a nap. Unfortunately, neither of those seem to be in the cards right now.

Gideon goes on to explain in gleeful detail exactly how this weapon was going to complicate Din’s life. He didn’t put it in those terms, but with every rejection Bo-Katan makes he feels a headache coming on- both literally and metaphorically.

As it becomes clear that she really won’t be accepting the saber, Boba Fett starts to chuckle, soon devolving into full blown laughter.

Bo-Katan rounds on him with a stony glare.

“This is funny to you?”

“Hysterical. All this was for that saber, wasn’t it?”

She seethes in silence, but the answer is clear regardless.

“Tough luck, princess.”

Fett’s right that this is profoundly unlucky, but Din thinks of everyone in their motley crew, he’s far off in the worst position right now. He cannot emphasize enough how little he wants to do with this weapon, much less all the trouble that comes with it.

“I’m surprised _you_ won’t take it, Boba Fett, given your infamous reputation as a ruthless bounty hunter.”

The helmet is an impassive barrier, his voice cool and even. “I’m just full of surprises.”

Then there’s an alarm going off, and a platoon of Dark Troopers boarding the ship, and they’re all stanced for a suicide mission, except-

Well, Gideon said it first. The kid will be fine. That’s enough to keep him standing, to keep his blaster aimed at the door and hands steady on the trigger.

But then there’s an X-Wing swooping in, and it’s not New Republic reinforcements but it looks like they won’t be dying here anyways.

Because there’s someone in dark robes wielding a laser saber on the screen, cutting through the droids with ease. Sparks fly and metal crumbles in the wake of him, the person never once breaking their smooth stride towards the bridge.

“A Jedi,” someone says, shocked, but Din isn’t so sure. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s met someone with the garb and the weapons of a people they didn’t belong to.

Apparently Gideon is more certain, because in a heart-stopping second he’s lunged upwards and fired a stolen blaster towards Bo-Katan and then his kid.

Din flings himself in front of the shot, sliding in front Grogu just in time to shield him.

Seeing that he’d failed, the Moff pauses, then puts the blaster to his chin. There’s nothing Din can do from this distance, but Cara is there in an instant, crashing the stock of her heavy blaster into his temple. The Imperial crumples to the ground and stays there, knocked unconscious.

That deals with the enemy inside the room, but they’re still left with the diminishing but notable threat of the Dark Troopers and the possible Jedi slicing their way through them with uncertain intentions.

Din climbs to his feet for what feels like the hundredth time that day, scooping up Grogu to set him on the counter by the security panel.

He blinks and suddenly Boba Fett is looking over his shoulder, helmet fixed on the screen.

“Wait,” the bounty hunter says, leaning in. “I know that saber.”

“Old friend?” If Fett knew this possible-Jedi cutting his way through Dark Troopers like a vibroblade through butter then Din would feel a whole lot better about their chances of not being on the other end of that laser sword. Or laser saber, maybe.

“It better not be.”

Ah.

His dread returns tenfold as the figure on the screen leaves a sparking trail of debris creeping ever closer to the bridge. As an ally, Din could take satisfaction knowing that someone this powerful was in the kid’s corner. As an enemy, he’s already preemptively exhausted and not a little terrified. His attention is pulled from the screen by a coo and he looks down to see Grogu tugging gently on his sleeve. The Mandalorian leans in close, getting the sense that the little guy had picked up on his distress and wanted to soothe it. The kid tilts his head, smiling up at Din like he hadn’t just been scooped out of a cell some minutes ago.

“Paatp!” he gurgles, and gently pats at the visor. Din laughs, and at the sound the child instantly settles, slowly toddling off to the screen again.

Reminded of their incoming guest, Din hopes that Grogu knows something that he doesn’t, to be so focused and yet calm. Maybe it’s a Jedi thing.

It’s that tentative, desperate faith in his kid, _for_ his kid, that has him insisting they open the doors. The others protest briefly, but Din's only reservation lies on the reaction of one person. Boba Fett's stance is wide and solid, his shoulders squared and helmet fixed unerringly at the door. But from his place beside Fennec, he nods his head once and says nothing and that's good enough for Din.

The doors open to reveal the robed stranger, and Din distantly notices that though the man is shorter than he’d expected, he’s also more imposing than on screen. There's a physical weight to his presence, as if the air around him dragged like a collapsing star drawing in all matter in its orbit.

His headache is getting worse, and Din is inexplicably reminded of the feeling of touching down on Tattoine, the noticeable pull of its twin suns that make the ship vibrate and rattle, the hum of the Razor Crest’s atmospheric systems as it tries to keep the sweltering heat of the planet from overloading the engines.

The man pulls his hood down to reveal a thin blond man. Human. Unremarkable except for that strange sense of gravity to him. It reminds Din of Grogu.

He swallows and addresses the stranger.

“Are you a Jedi?”

“I-”

“He is.”

The now-confirmed Jedi straightens, eyes locking straight onto the bounty hunter approaching him. The skin around his eyes tightens in what might be disdain.

“Boba Fett,” he says, blinking. “I thought you were dead.”

Judging by the flatness of his voice, if the Jedi was surprised to find out otherwise, it surely wasn’t for the better. Then again, Din wasn’t sure the man had emoted strongly at any point since he’d boarded a ship full of Dark Troopers, so he may be imaging things.

“It didn’t take,” Fett replies, posture stiff.

Din notes that he’s fingering the blaster at his hip. The stranger must have noticed that as well, though he gives no indication of it.

“I see.” There’s a lingering silence for a moment, before the man’s largely serene expression twists up in faint amusement.

“My condolences to the sarlaac.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t have time to process that bizarre statement before Fett reacts.

“Right then,” he says, voice flat, and then the artificial lights are glinting off a blaster muzzle aimed straight for the Jedi’s head. The air is soon filled with that undulating hum of a lightsaber as Fett fires off several shots in quick succession.

Din jolts forward as the room erupts in shouts. “Woah woah woah, Fett what are you-”

Fennec is suddenly in his space and cuts him off by throwing her arm in front of his chest, blaster-rifle halting his advance.

“Leave it,” she says, not taking her eyes off the fight. “Boba can handle himself.”

Din was more concerned with angering the extremely powerful wizard who had come to their aid and presumably was here to offer to help Grogu, but he decides not to correct her. Some small and shameful part of his mind says it wouldn’t be so bad if they had to keep searching. If he could hold on to the kid for just a while longer. He ruthlessly strangles that line of thought and, pushing down his rising nausea, turns to argue with her.

“Fennec, he has a laser saber!”

“I think it’s called a lightsaber.”

“Fine. The man who just demolished a platoon of Dark Troopers has a lightsaber and he’s still using it. Fett is _not_ handling this.”

The assassin just shrugs, not budging from her stance or her gaze, though her fingers tap rhythmically against the metal of her rifle.

“Hey Boba!” she calls out.

“Bit busy,” he pants, ducking under a swing of the lightsaber and coming up with a flamethrower at full blast. “Give me a moment!”

“Want any help? Our friend here is a little concerned.”

Din turns his head to stare at her directly. The smirk she levels at him makes him think he should’ve broadcasted his disbelief more strongly.

“I’m touched. But this is my battle, _burc’ya_.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” says the Jedi, looking bored. “Put down the blaster, Fett.”

Fett responds by pulling a second blaster off a nearby corpse and firing a fresh round of heavier artillery.

The Jedi’s lightsaber is a blur of green, deflecting blast after blast with no signs of slowing. Din is unconcerned until a stray blast ricochets off the blade and connects dangerously close to where Grogu is sat on the dashboard.

“HEY! Watch the kid!”

“Sorry about that,” the Jedi offers absently, clearly preoccupied by the fight.

Apology or no, Din’s impulse to come to the Jedi’s aid has suddenly run its course. Bending to scoop up the kid, he steps over Gideon’s unconscious body and moves to the furthest corner of the room. Better to keep Grogu in a defensible corner to wait out the fight.

Cara Dune turns to him, her hands shifting uncertainly on her heavy blaster.

“You really letting this happen? If that’s who I think it is,” she says, gesturing at the Jedi with her chin, “you might want to call off your friend. Commander Skywalker isn’t someone to play with.”

The name is familiar to him, in a vague sort of way, but he can’t quite place it. Din figures if it’s important it’ll come up again. He shrugs, trying not to jostle the kid.

“You saw what happened on the cams. Pretty sure the Jedi,” the word still sits awkward on his tongue, “is just humoring him. Let Fett get it out of his system.”

She snorts, watching the bounty hunter crash hard into one of the work stations. He comes up swinging, letting loose a round of blaster fire that fills the room with flashes of red. Not one of them connects with his robed opponent.

Every now and again the Jedi will spare a glance to Grogu, his focus clearly divided between the child and the bounty hunter attacking him. His expression is disturbingly even, unphased by thick smoke of stray blaster-fire swirling around him like fog. Din gets the impression that if it weren't for the kid, this fight would've been less one-sided and much shorter.

The chirping sound of binary draws Din’s eyes to the doorway. A blue and white astromech rolls in, dome swiveling around before landing its camera on Boba Fett. It rolls into the fray with a screech of noise.

The bounty hunter whips around at the sound before brushing off the threat and turning his attention back to the Jedi with a scoff.

“Of course the droid is still around. Scram, tin-can.”

The astromech whirrs shrilly, extending a rod from inside his chassis that spurts a flame at Fett.

He responds with a short blast of a flame thrower that has the droid rearing back in a shrieking flurry of binary, having earned a blackened smudge of soot across its dome for its trouble.

“Artoo!” exclaims the Jedi, and spares a moment to run over to the astromech. Judging by the furious series of clicks and beeps, it’s fine, if not supremely upset.

“That was uncalled for,” the Jedi says, once he’s ensured the droid is unharmed.

Fett hadn’t let up in the slightest while he’d been occupied with the droid, but it hadn’t seemed to make a difference judging by how the man only needed one hand to flick away blaster fire with his glowing saber.

“Let it go. I’m not here to fight you, Fett.”

“Tough,” he says, and kicks one of the littered Imperial corpses in the way of the droid, which was charging in again with a taser extension and beeping like mad.

It nearly topples when it collides with the body before the Jedi stretches out a hand to catch it with his powers. Boba uses the opening to send a volley of blasts towards his unprotected flank. One almost makes it through, sizzling a hole through the fabric of his cloak. The man looks down at it with undisguised irritation.

“You push too far.”

“Not far enough. I’m owed a little more bloodshed yet.”

“That’s my line, I think,” responds the Jedi, eyes narrowed.

“You cost me my payment, my armor, and my employer. Not to mention my pretty looks.”

At this the Jedi scoffs, his attention now entirely on the bounty hunter; no longer flicking back to the child like he’d been doing every few seconds. Din is pretty sure having the undivided attention of an angry Jedi isn’t good for Boba’s life expectancy and steels himself at the realization that he’ll have to step in at some point.

“You froze my friend in carbonite and sold him to a _Hutt_.” The man spits out the last word like a curse. It’s the strongest emotion he’s shown so far, though his expression resettles in a second. “I’d chalk it up to cosmic balance.”

“The smuggler ought to have paid his debts, then. Way I see it,” Fett grunts, blocking a swing of the saber with his vambrace before getting some distance, “I settled them. How’s that for cosmic balance.”

“Do you have any idea what we had to go through to get him back?” The Jedi’s voice is definitely strained, and Din doesn’t think it’s from exertion.

Fett might be getting under his skin now. Judging by the demolished platoon of Dark Troopers outside the room, that doesn’t bode well for anyone. Despite Boba Fett's sometimes short temper, there has to be some serious bad blood here. Din hasn't known the man for long, but he's largely rational and competent. It'd have to be some nasty history to have him so unreasonable in picking his battles.

“I was there,” Boba deadpans, his next few shots vehement and rapid fire, probably at the reminder of whatever incident these two are so riled up about. “You went a round with Jabba’s little beastie and then got me kicked. into. a _sarlaac pit."_

Din winces in sympathy. Yeah, that would do it.

“You think I care? Because of you, I had to see my sister in chains, dressed as a pleasure slave.” The Jedi's voice is wavering with anger and an awkward sort of discomfort.

Din is really hoping he doesn’t get any context for that so he can forget he ever heard it.

“Apologies to her highness, playing dress-up must have been such a hardship.”

At that, the Jedi’s patience visibly snaps. He flings out a hand and suddenly Boba Fett is raised into the air, his hands coming up to clutch at his throat.

Din is forcibly reminded of the kid lifting an entire mudhorn into the air. He’d choked Cara when he’d thought they were fighting. So much power in such a tiny frame had been frightening to think about. Seeing a Jedi in his prime wielding that same power is terrifying and Din is caught between getting as much distance as possible and interrupting before Fett gets himself killed.

“Stop talking,” the Jedi half snarls, but Fett only coughs and has the targeting mechanism on his helmet slide smoothly down to his visor. His typically rasping voice is roughened further by lack of air, but it’s steady around an audible sneer.

“Pathetic. Your father had a stronger grip.” The rocket on his jet pack whirs, a bare hint of steam puffing out foretelling its launch.

Din feels panic grip his chest as he quickly tries to go over all he knows of Imperial cruisers and how big of an explosion they could take before compromising hull integrity. He’s not liking the answers, and maybe the kid picks up on that because the little one is suddenly squinting, his little arm outstretched. With a strained noise, Grogu throws them apart, the Jedi hitting the far wall as Boba clatters to the floor with a groan.

Din gently hands the kid off to Cara, moving in closer to the two in the hopes that they could finally be reasoned with.

They take a moment to catch their breath, the Jedi sparing Grogu a quick appraising look before turning back to Fett. He drags himself to his feet with a mild grimace.

“Don’t,” he grits out, pointing the lightsaber accusingly towards the bounty hunter, “talk about my father.”

“Why?” Fett asks, clearly having found the right button to push. He stands, pushing it with emphasis. “I knew him longer than yourself. And you don’t have half of Vader’s spunk.”

“What?!” hisses Cara, in time with half the room flinching back in surprise.

“His name,” snarls the Jedi, “was Anakin Skywalker. Stay _down, sleemo._ ”

Din has lost absolutely any grasp that he felt he had on the situation, which to be fair, wasn’t much to begin with.

(“I need to sit down,” Cara says in the background, and it’s the first reasonable thing Din’s heard in an eon. He agrees deeply with the sentiment.)

Fett barks a dark chuckle, and Din can hear the sneer as he responds, “Guess it’s true that you can take the farm boy out of the desert, but-”

The Jedi cuts him off with a violent flick of his hand, sending Boba flying and crashing hard into Din, having accidentally placed himself in the line of fire.

The two of them hit the ground with clanging thud and a screech of metal, Boba’s blaster skidding off out of reach. A string of Mando’a curses escape them both as Boba shoves hard at Din’s breastplate, heaving Din and his beskar armor alike off him with a breathless groan.

Din grunts as his head collides hard with the floor, feeling more than seeing Fett scramble for something to his side.

“Apologies, I’ll be borrowing this for a click.”

It’s not until a familiar crackling hum fills the air that Din registers what’s happening.

Fett is on his feet again, the Darksaber slicing through the air like a wound. Skywalker blinks at the sight, looking surprised, before meeting the blade with his own. Neither of them look inclined to stop any time soon, but that’s just too bad because Din’s gotten pretty sick of this.

As they draw back for another swing, he places himself between the two, the sabers crashing against the beskar of his vambraces with a ringing screech.

“Enough.”

The sabers slide off his armor, but neither of their wielders turn them off. Hoping that the Jedi won’t press the advantage, Din turns to Fett. He holds a hand up in placation, but his voice is firm.

“He’s here for the kid. Leave it.”

“Is he now?” But the Darksaber retracts with a hiss all the same.

After a moment the Jedi follows suit.

“Thank you.” Despite himself, Din knows he sounds exactly as tired and relieved as he feels.

The Jedi takes a deep breath, visibly collecting himself and straightening his slightly singed robes. He nods semi-serenely, but it’s a much less convincing facade than before.

“I am here for the child, yes.”

Grogu squirms in Cara’s arms, and at a nod from Din she sets him on the ground. He toddles forward to exchange croons and chirps with the Jedi’s astromech.

“Grogu, right?” says the Jedi, crouching down to make uncomfortably strong eye-contact with the kid. The other Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, had done the same. Din’s assuming that’s how they communicate.

“He is strong with the Force,” he says, before standing back up to address the Mandalorian. “But power without training is nothing.”

“What’s your name?” Din asks, rather than focus too hard on Grogu, and training, and giving up his kid _(-_ _‘_ _the’_ _kid, ‘_ _ **the**_ _’_ _kid, he can’t bring himself to let him go if he keeps thinking of Grogu as ‘_ his’ _kid)_ to a total stranger.

“Luke Skywalker.”

“...Fett called Vader your father,” he says, more for confirmation that he hadn’t hallucinated that bit than out of wanting an actual answer. “You didn’t deny it.”

“His name was Anakin Skywalker,” he repeats, “and he was a Jedi before he was Vader.”

Then he turns to Fett, eyes suddenly blazing. “How did you know? It’s not common knowledge.”

The bounty hunter meets his eyes through the helmet.

“I was bluffing. Call it an educated guess.”

Din is really too exhausted to react to that, so he just ignores it.

Boba then turns to Din and says, “You know, you and the foundling could do better. Find a _proper_ Jedi. A retired Sith, maybe. Literally anyone else.”

Skywalker cuts in, fierce but disarmingly genuine.

“I _am_ a Jedi, like my father before me.”

“You’re a menace like him, too.”

Skywalker’s lips thin in irritation, but they both ignore him. Din hesitates, unsure about just handing over Grogu to the man, given that his head is still reeling from the last few hours. Now is probably not the time to be making life-altering decisions for his kid.

When there’s no answer forthcoming, the man continues.

“I will protect him with my life.”

Fett makes a sharp sardonic sound, says “Yeah, you do that, farm boy.”

The man points a gloved finger at him vehemently. “I’ve had enough of you, you karking waste of water.”

Din sighs, bracing himself for a renewal of hostilities. Boba Fett was usually much more reasonable. The Jedi had seemed so calm and reasonable too. Funny how quickly that changed.

The brewing fight is interrupted by someone Din had largely forgotten was there.

“Save it,” snaps Bo-Katan, her stance the picture of someone brimming with poorly withheld tension. “Before you fools get started again, there’s a far more pressing matter.”

She steps forward, her eyes glued to the weapon in Boba’s hand.

“What, exactly, do you intend to do with that?”

Fett’s helmet tilts towards her, the man silent for a long beat. Din can almost feel the smug consideration radiating off him as it stretches over seconds.

“Worried I’ll take your throne, Kryze?” Boba says.

Din notices that Fennec has discreetly moved to position herself back and to Fett’s left. He’s not the only one. Koska stands sharp at attention and shifts her own position to mirror her, though Bo-Katan’s eyes never drift from the Darksaber.

“You have no claim to it,” she asserts. It’s not a denial.

The two of them stare at each other for a long stressful beat before Fett stands down.

“Relax. I’ve got no interest in ruling a wasteland of ash and glass.” He turns to Din and extends the hilt to him.

“It’s all yours, _burc’ya_.”

Din’s mind is racing. If he plays this right, something good might come of this whole disaster. At the very least he’ll have one less responsibility on his hands.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Keep it. You knocked me down, took it fair and square. It was won in combat.”

Every head in the room turns to stare. Fett’s hand slowly retracts, though Din can feel his eyes boring into him through two layers of helmet.

“You can’t be serious,” blurts out Koska, from Bo-Katan’s left. She sounds horrified.

Bo-Katan herself steps forward, her voice dark and dangerous. “That weapon belongs in the hand of a Mandalorian. You have no right to wield it.”

“You heard the man,” Boba tilts his head towards Din. “Won in combat, fair and square.”

Fennec cuts in. “Meaning, he has more right to it than _you_.”

The Mandalorian bristles, drawing herself up to her full height. Her voice is vicious and dripping with wounded pride.

“I am Bo-Katan of House Kryze, and he is a clone of a denounced _beroya_. He has no right to that saber and no claim to the throne.”

(Off to the side, the Jedi leans towards Cara Dune, Grogu cooing at the droid by their feet.

“Politics, huh?”

She nods, eyeing him warily.

“Mandalorian politics, looks like.”

Skywalker hums noncommittally, straightening once more with a curious expression.)

Meanwhile Fett is stanced for battle and dangerously still, leaning right into Bo-Katan’s space. She glares unperturbed directly into the faceplate of his helmet.

“If it’s lineage you’re so concerned about,” he growls, “let me set you straight, princess. I am Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett, foundling to Jaster Mereel, _Al’Ori’Ramikade_ and _Mand’alor_. Don’t tell me what I can’t claim.”

He shifts to the side, suddenly nonchalant as he looks down at the Darksaber in his hand. He turns the hilt one way and the other, watching the glint of light play off the metal.

“But maybe you’re right about one thing. There are far worse wastelands to rule than Mandalore.”

Koska shifts beside Bo-Katan, the both of them suddenly stiff and alert in a way they weren’t before.

Fett’s helmet tilts to the side, and whether he’s still looking at the saber or at them is unclear. Din doesn’t think it matters, given the way Fennec has a sniper’s aim and a glint in her eye, fingering her blaster-rifle from her place at Boba’s side. He goes on, tone calm and unconcerned.

“A throne is a throne, glass and ash aside. And since you mention it, Kryze, I think kingship could suit me. Maybe,” he says, with a sinister edge, paying no mind to the way the Mandalorians across from him look one word away from tearing out his throat, “I’ll keep this useful little heirloom and take up the family mantle besides. Fennec?”

She smirks, looking every bit the knife-sharp deadly assassin she is. “A throne of glass, huh? Sounds fancy.”

Since he’s watching for it, Din catches the moment the two warriors finally snap.

Din is close enough to intercept Bo-Katan, who lunges forward with a snarl and the snick of a vibroblade sliding out of her vambrace.

But Koska collides with Boba with a guttural yell, tackling him to the ground before Fennec can swing her blaster into position.

At close quarters, there’s nothing the assassin can do but watch as the two exchange vicious blows for the second time in as many days. Din feels impossibly tired just witnessing this, but is buoyed by the single hopeful thought that the Darksaber and all that comes with it is no longer his problem.

Turns out it’s not Fett’s problem anymore either, as with a cracking strike that appears to have snapped a tendon, if not outright snapped his wrist, Koska snatches the saber hilt and holds it up to his neck in trembling warning. The two of them are heaving for breath, Fett’s flamethrower held up to Koska’s unprotected neck in a mutual stand-off.

Then, slowly, Boba lowers his arm, letting out a chuckle.

“Fair enough, little one. Plenty of wastelands to go around. I’ll leave that throne for you and find a better one.”

At this, the situation seems to hit Koska like a speeder. She flinches upright and stumbles back, staring at the weapon in her hand.

“I- I didn’t,” she stammers, looking back at Bo-Katan who has suddenly fallen still. The blade on her vambrace stays extended.

Din steps back, wanting nothing to do with whatever conflict was about to follow.

“This wasn’t- I don’t...”

Right. Not his problem. When there’s no immediate bloodshed, he turns right around to leave them to it, walking back to offer Boba a hand up from the floor.

“With that settled,” Skywalker interrupts, “I should be taking the child.”

He looks down to Grogu, who swivels his head around between the two. The kid waddles over to Din, tugging at his boot the way he does when he wants to be picked up.

“He doesn’t want to go with you,” he says, apologetic. Pleading.

“He’s asking permission,” the Jedi answers, not unkindly, but watches without complaint as Din bends to scoop his kid.

He doesn’t respond for a long moment. The kid needs to be with his people. He does need training. And Din is about to enter a war-zone. But still.

“Where are you taking him?”

“The Jedi Praxeum.”

That means nothing to him.

“A Jedi Academy,” Skywalker elaborates.

“Where?” he presses.

The Jedi hesitates, his eyes flicking to Boba Fett and then to the rest of the admittedly criminal group, half of their number arguing over a throne in the back. Marshall Cara Dune was the sole largely law-abiding exception in their rag-tag team of renegades.

Fett makes a sound caught between amusement and offense.

“Come off it, Skywalker, it’s an _Academy_. The loss of the Jedi holds a warm place in my heart, but even I wouldn’t harm foundlings.”

He still doesn’t answer and Din feels a swell of irritation towards the man. He’s giving up his _kid_ to a man he doesn’t know to a place he’s never heard of; at the very least he’s owed this. So he jerks his head towards Boba and keeps his voice steady and firm.

“I trust him. Where?”

There’s a shift of beskar and fabric as Boba shifts to look at him, all but broadcasting discomfort and surprise.

Grogu makes a questioning noise from Din’s arms, catching Skywalker’s eyes. The kid’s ears swivel and twitch, like he’s listening to something Din can’t hear. Probably the Jedi speaking to him with his mind.

The Jedi breaks away first with a sigh.

“...Yavin 4.”

The Marshall walks up, no longer pretending to ignore the conversation.

“Good. You’re headed to Mandalore, aren’t you?” Cara says to Din, though her eyes are fixed on the Jedi. “That’s what? Only two thousand parsecs away?”

“Close enough to visit,” Fennec agrees.

The Jedi inclines his head, though it’s not an acceptance.

Next to him, Boba Fett clears his throat and that’s when Din realizes what this looks like, where he’s essentially holding the kid hostage and flanked by mercenaries on either side; like he’s extorting visiting rights from the man across from him.

…..Din thinks he’s okay with that.

Grogu coos again, bright and content.

“If you insist,” Skywalker allows, slowly, “I think we could work something out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (in order of appearance):  
> -ad'ika: Mando'a, meaning "little one" or "child", generic endearment for children  
> -haran: Mando'a term for hell  
> -burc’ya: Mando'a for "friend"  
> -sleemo: common Huttese insult, "slimeball"  
> -beroya: Mando'a for "bounty hunter"  
> -Al’Ori’Ramikade: Mando'a, "Commando of Supercommandos" (ori'ramikade: supercommando, Mandalorian designation of elite special forces)  
> -Mand'alor: sole ruler of Mandalore
> 
> Boba, seeing the little punk who semi-directly led to him getting vored by a lovecraftian sand horror: be cool be cool be cool be cool  
> Luke "Chanel Boots" Skywalker: *says something mildly snarky*  
> Boba Fett: "So anyway, I started blasting-"
> 
> Also, A Concept: the Darksaber passes hands another half a dozen times while they're retaking Mandalore, coming full-circle to end up with Din again. Bo-Katan gets to hold it exactly never.


End file.
